


Work From Home

by objectlesson



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Body Worship, Butt Plugs, Daddy Kink, Edging, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pet Names, Rimming, Scent Kink, Teasing, dirty texting, sending nudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27334120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: Gimli is working his bartending shift. Legolas is home alone with pink wine, a silk robe, a phone, and a plan.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 25
Kudos: 172
Collections: Gigolas FuckFest 2020





	Work From Home

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Gigolas Fuckfest everyone!!! I've been wanting to write a songfic inspired by the 5th Harmony song Work from Home for FOREVER, and finally I'm writing a pairing I think it would actually be really cute for. Also!!! This story is filthy!! it's very in line with themes I write in other fandoms but it feels a little scandalous for tolkien fandom so buckle up buttercups.

——-

Legolas always _tries_ to go to sleep when Gimli has a night shift at the bar, but it never works. 

He just lies awake in bed instead, thinking obsessively and (sometimes a little self-deprecatingly) about how many sexy, buff gay men are likely fawning all over _his_ boyfriend _in that very moment._ How Gimli is probably flashing his sharp smile and shooting winks to every guy he makes a drink for, because it’s his _job,_ as the bear bartender at the bear bar he works at: to flirt with all the other bears so they keep coming back for more cocktails. 

The notion makes Legolas dually jealous _and_ turned on. He likes to think about all those beautiful men thirsting fruitlessly over _his_ boyfriend, but at the same time, it keeps him up, knotted inside with a hungry, lonely, wanting ache. So every time, without fail ,he ends up dragging himself out of bed and struggling to stay up until four thirty in the fucking morning, when Gimli comes home stumbling and exhausted through the door. 

Finally, Legolas gives up on even attempting to sleep in the first place. When Gimli is working a late night, Legolas commits to his _own_ late night spent lounging around their apartment in his silk robe, dicking around on his phone or half-watching some new Netflix series, waiting for Gimli to come back and crawl into bed with him so they can both crash.

But this particular Friday he’s feeling _especially_ sorry for himself. He had a shitty day at work and on top of that his _dad_ called him in the middle of the afternoon to vent about some investment of his that fell through, like Legolas is his fucking _accountant_ and actually gives a shit what his dad does with his money. All he _really_ wanted after the metro ride home was to curl up with Gimli on the couch and bury his face into the delicious, furred ditch between his pecs and get his hair played with until he got his throat fucked, and then like, _go to bed._ Bit instead, he has to _wait_ until the goddamned sun rises. It’s a travesty. His dad called him _spoiled_ on the phone today and he's probably right, and that _certainly_ doesn’t help. 

Pouting, Legolas cracks open a bottle of pink wine. He pours himself a hefty glass, and once it’s finished, he feels a little better. His fingers are clumsy and his his head is pleasantly light as he grabs his phone and texts Gimli: _i miss u so much baby. Can’t stop thinking about how much I want to shove my face in your arm pit. ugh. Fridays suck :(_

He doesn’t expect a response right away, because Gimli is working. He’s probably making a vodka soda for some thick, hairy, gorgeous guy in sleeveless flannel right now. Legolas pours himself another enormous glass and crosses his legs, groaning up at the ceiling while he tries to count his blessings. Like, how he’s super lucky Gimli is into _him_ and not into other bears. 

Then his phone vibrates, and he jumps before scrambling for it, trying not to get his hopes up that Gimli was able to find a moment to text him back, then _beaming_ when he’s wrong. 

_i’m sorry my love. if it makes you feel any better, every moment i have to myself I'm thinking of you. cannot wait to have you in my arms again tonight xxx._

Legolas sips his wine, and chews his lip. _It does make me feel a little better. i love u. are there lots of extremely sexy guys there tonight?_

Gimli texts back immediately, and it makes Legolas’s dick twitch a little in his robe. Maybe it’s the wine. Or maybe it’s the image of his boyfriend neglecting his cocktail mixing duties to send him sappy texts, keeping a long line of men waiting and ogling his ass as he turns his back to them. _Its packed, and of course none of them are half as lovely as you, princess_ the text reads, and Legolas actually makes a fucking _whining_ sound into his drink as he reads it.

It is _so unfair_ that he has to share his own boyfriend on the _weekends._ So, he sets his wineglass down with a resolute clink and flops onto his stomach across their bed, holding up his phone to snap a few selfies he’s sure will properly convey how tragic it is that he’s home alone _unkissed_ in this very movement. Legolas is very very good at selfies, even when he’s drunk, so they come out perfectly acceptable: back arched, bare ass peachy and pale through the translucent silk of his robe, mouth properly bitten and pink. _Don’t you wish you were home right now?_ he captions them, and hits send before finishing off the rest of his wine. 

It’s twenty minutes or so before he gets a response. _you wicked lovely thing. making my mouth water at work. i fucked up two drinks because of you._

Legolas grins, licking his lips before rolling onto his back and palming his thickening cock, stroking it to full hardness so he can take even filthier pictures. _see? you’re a bad bartendedr and should come back home immediately. my mouth is empty and its not fair_ he texts before sending a picture of his pout, followed by another of his own fingers on his tongue, slick to the second knuckle. This is far from the first time he’s sent dirty pictures to Gimli, but it’s the first time he’s done it _while he was working._ While he was in the company of other gay men, opening these texts where _anyone_ could see, and get an eyeful of Legolas’s creamy body spread out and wanting. It thrills him because it’s _dirty._ It’s needy. And every time he feels the power of his own need where Gimli is concerned, it twists fire-hot inside him, twining with the shame and humiliation born from such base, boundless desperation. He chews the inside of his cheek, whimpering as he fucks the air, holding off on touching himself until he gets a response. 

_Shit. i dropped a bottle of beer_ Gimli sends back. _you’re distracting me_. 

Then, because Legolas is already in his too deep, he snaps a picture of his very hard and leaking cock, and sends that as he chews the inside of his cheek raw. _Sorry daddy :)_ the accompanying text reads. 

The three dots that tell him Gimli is typing appear, then disappear, then appear again. His stomach tightens up in anticipatory knots, cheeks hot, cock flexing as he cups it in his palm. 

_Fuck_ Gimli says first, followed by _you’re the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I wish i was on my knees sucking you right now baby, and not here, at work._

Legolas toys with the tip of his cock, smearing precum over the pink crown in teasing, too-light strokes. He’s wet and hard and drunk and the whole mess of it all is making him feel reckless. But also stupid.Though mostly, _powerful._ He’s tempted to text Gimli something insane, like _say you have en emergency and leave the bar. Come to me. Take me. I can’t stand this._ But he manages to curb the initial wild lick of hunger enough to temper it down, and adjust his plan. Gimli will come home and make him come, eventually. In fact he can probably get it rough and hard and demanding just how he likes it, if he plays his cards right. If he teases Gimli all night, keeps him wanting. This isn’t about passing the time anymore—it’s about edging himself, and holding out, and ultimately, getting _exactly_ what he wants. 

So, with a whimper, he takes his hand off his cock, and smears the shine of precum up into the fine blonde hairs beneath his navel. He takes a picture of that, then rolls onto his stomach to take another this time of his ass, which is, in his opinion, one of his best features. It’s small and muscular but it’s also _very_ round and shapely and most importantly of all, Gimli _loves_ it. Loves spending literal _hours_ holding his cheeks parted and licking him out, getting him drool-slick, making him beg. Pinking the pale skin up with his beard so Legolas is _raw_ the next day, and can’t sit straight without remembering. 

It takes Legolas several tries, but finally, he gets a decent and not blurry picture of the curve of his spine, ending in the plump, blonde-dusted curve of his ass. _I’ll be waiting for you to come back_ he promises. _wet like this. i can prep myself, so all you have to do is walk in the front door, unbuckle your belt, and push into my hole._

_fuck show mee please princess_ Gimli texts back immediately, and Legolas groans aloud, stomach twisting, blood racing. He so rarely sees Gimli text without perfect punctuation, let _alone_ type so clumsily there’s a _typo._ He kisses his phone before pushing it across the sheets, forcing himself to catch his breath so he can keep Gimli frustrated and waiting, _hungry._ He takes his time getting the lube and his favorite pink candy-heart plug out of the bedside table, slicking up his fingers, easing the silicone inside himself, whimpering at the stretch, the drag. It’s not a _fraction_ as good as when Gimli pushes it in, but knowing he’ll get to _see_ it, that this is all a show he’s putting on _for_ Gimli has him squirming, hole pulsing and flexing around the intrusion. 

He reaches back with a shaking hand, holding his phone carefully and arranging himself so that his stuffed-full ass is on display, lube-shiny and obscene. Once he’s satisfied with the picture he hits send, fingers shaking in overwhelm, in want. _Fuck._ It’s going to _hurt_ to have to _wait_ another hour or so for Gimli’s rough-wonderful hands on his skin, the starved scrape of his mouth over the rim of his most sensitive muscle. Legolas whimpers and humps the bed, grounding himself in the punishing shift of cotton rather than the heat of his palm. He can do this. He can be patient. 

Eventually Legolas forces himself to stand, legs shaky, body adjusting to the sensation of walking with a plug in. It’s been awhile, and it’s luckily a weird enough feeling it takes the edge off of his acute pleasure so that he’s not dangerously close to coming. He shrugs his robe on, the silk snagging on his perspiration sticky skin, chest heaving with each breath as he ventures back into the kitchen to pour more wine. He puts a handful of ice in this glass to slow himself down, and then he plops on the couch to wait. 

_Finally_ Gimli texts back after a few minutes. _I had to take a break to go to the bathroom and touch myself. I’ve never gotten hard at work before. you drive me mad._

Legolas grins at his phone, rolling his balls in his palm, cock flexing against his stomach at the mere _idea_ of Gimli storming off mid-shift, trying to hide his erection, fisting over his thick shaft while he stared down at Legolas’s pictures. _are you still in the bathroom? are you still hard? can I see?_ he asks, before sending a whole block of halo emojis. 

_yes. i’m trying to get it under control_ Gimli sends back. Legolas is about to beg for a picture anyway, but luckily Gimli takes pity on him and sends one, his thick cock-head trapped down by waistband of his briefs, the rest of him mouthwateringly _big_ beneath the y front and _god,_ fuck, immediately Legolas’s hole flutters around the plug, gripping at it in needy pulses. 

_god i want you in me so fucking bad. Plug's not big enough, need you daddy, want to ride you_ he types, afraid to even _touch_ his cock lest he bring himself off prematurely. He resolutely sips wine, and rocks his hips, _knowing_ he looks fucking slutty and desperate right now and _wishing_ he could _show_ Gimli. That he could _see_ what he does to Legolas, even miles away. 

A text comes: _I’ll fuck my sweet boy so good when i get home. make you come on my cock, mark your neck up so everyone knows such a fine, glorious thing belongs all to me._

“Fuck, ugh, _fuck,”_ Legolas says aloud, kicking the air pitifully and tossing his phone to the other side of the couch for a minute so he can calm down. He _loves_ being marked up and laid claim to and Gimli _knows_ that. _Knows_ he gets off on being possessed, and coveted, and shown off. He reaches around and twist the plug inside himself, pulling it almost all the way out before pushing it back in, hissing at the new feeling, the _almost-_ pain _._ It makes it easier to keep his hands off his cock, to keep from grinding off on the couch, humping himself to pitiful finish on the cushions.

Time passes, though he’s not sure how much. Staving off his orgasm is a full time job, and it leaves him pouting and red-cheeked and too drunk. When he grabs his phone, he has _every_ intention of telling Gimli that he’s not gonna last. That he’ll try his hardest but the magic 8 ball has basically warned him they shouldn’t count on it. He’s thinking of a way to spin his overeager neediness as sexy when Gimli’s latest text comes in. _on my way to you, darling. My boss thought i was sick. sent me home. I certainly didn’t bother correcting him._

Legolas reads it several times over before it properly sinks in. Then, he shudders in relief, heart pounding, cock throbbing in his fist as he curls his fingers around himself. _oh thank god_ he hammers out one-handed with his thumb. _i can’t fucking wait. I'm so hard for you. I'm so ready for your cock._

_it’s ready for you. see you so soon love xxx_

Legolas groans, uncertain he’ll last even _that_ long. He and Gimli’s apartment is _not_ that far away from the strip of clubs in the gay district, but the traffic is always stupidly heavy on the weekends, and sometimes it takes a whole half hour to crawl only several blocks. But the promise of Gimli’s hands on him so soon is enough to keep him behaving. He curls up in his silk robe and collapses into bed yet again, hips swaying back and forth, ass pushed out and needy as he rocks against the mattress, spreading himself. His mind is nothing but a mess of want and drunk static, and it’s _embarrassing_ which just makes him hungrier, because embarrassment is sort of _hot,_ when you’re safe in your own apartment about to be railed by your own boyfriend who you love very much. 

Twenty minutes _inch_ by, molasses slow. Legolas’s thighs are weak from clenching them and the sheets are sticky with precum and his cock is _so_ fucking hard it’s starting to actually hurt. He’s still nursing his wine (which is mostly melting ice, now) and feeling positively _insane_ when finally, finally, he hears Gimli’s key click in the door. 

“You’re home,” he moans, hot cheek pressed into his pillow, heart palpitating against his ribs. He’s dizzy as he drags himself into a standing position, but luckily he doesn’t have to _stay_ standing for very long, because in seconds, Gimli has torn in like a hurricane and laid him back out across their beds with the force of his body an unmovable thing, like wind, like a mountain. 

“I _am_ home,” he growls, kissing up and down Legolas’s throat, palming over his pre-cum slick stomach, rubbing the shine into his skin with rough, aimless, greedy strokes. “God. Nearly crashed the car. Nearly got fired. You’re a fucking menace and I love you and I _need_ you on my cock.” 

Legolas gasps as he ruts against Gimli’s thick thigh, so elated he’s giddy, static eclipsing his vision in hazy white clouds. “Oh my _god!_ Who are _you_ and what happened to my gentlemanly, poet of a boyfriend?” 

Gimli peels back to look at him from beneath a cocked eyebrow, his cheeks flushes, eyes glittering. “You killed him,” he says. “Shot him dead with those pictures and _vile_ captions. I’m all that’s left now,” he murmurs, thumbing down into the crack of Legolas’s ass, and toying with the plug. “Are you going to give me what you promised, princess?” 

Legolas rubs his face into Gimli’s thick arm, then the collar of his tee-shirt, then his beard, trying his hardest to find somewhere that smells like _him:_ his sweat, his deodorant, his skin. He smells like club, though, other men’s cigarette smoke and cologne and Legolas is getting impatient, his mouth watering for the base, crude reality of what he’s been craving all these hours. “Yes, but—take this thing _off,_ you smell like bar, I want— _yes,_ fuck, please _”_ he whines, writhing on the bed just as Gimli strips his muscle shirt in a single fluid motion before immediately dropping back to to smother Legolas in his underarm. 

It’s _perfect._ Salty and spicy and damp, the musk on his lips unmistakably and undeniably _Gimli,_ and no one else. Legolas tries to make a sound but only comes out a fait murmurs, so instead he opens his mouth as best he can and licks at the hair there, matting it down with his tongue, sucking the bite of sweat from it. “My dirty boy,” Gimli rumbles right up against his ear, one big hand tangled in his hair, the other teasing the plug in and out of him, twisting it, holding it deep as he bucks against the pressure. “Filthy. Lying here playing with himself, desperate for my sweat. Soaking the bed for me, so perfect. And all mine.” 

He finally pulls off so Legolas can suck in a desperate breath, squirming on the bed, cock red and hungry against his stomach. “Yes, all yours, so fucking yours,” he whimpers, palming over Gimli’s strong back, tangling his hair and loosening the elastic in it. “Feel how hard I am for you?” 

“Yes, _god._ So hard,” Gimli groans, letting go of the plug so he can ever so gently ghost his fingers up Legolas’s shaft. “I want to put it my my mouth, but you’re so close already, I can tell. Are you gonna be able to last while I fuck your pretty pink hole, princess?” 

Legolas huffs and keens, lifting his hips to chase the sensation of being filled as Gimli eases the plug out, watching the slick, obscene sight with his lip between his teeth the whole time. “Yes,” he promises, feeling his hole wink, loving the way Gimli gasps at it, rubs his thumb into the swollen, puffy, lube-slick mess. “I’ll last, and if I don’t, you just keep fucking me. Even if I pass out, just—fill me up, please, use my hole,” he whispers urgently, breath tight in his throat as Gimli crooks and pushed two thick fingers into him, rubbing insistently _exactly_ where he likes it. His stomach muscles convulse reflexively, and Gimli chokes out an awed, adoring laugh, rubbing his other palm over them. 

“God, you are perfect. I spent the whole night surrounded by beautiful men and all I could think about was you. You just like this, sucking up fingers up, looking so _goddamned_ angelic in your silk robe with those cock-sucking lips talking dirty to me. I am the luckiest man in the world.” 

Legolas is fairly certain _he_ is the luckiest, though he can’t say anything because he’s quite forgotten what words are and how to use them. It’s hard to imagine anyone luckier as he lies there, getting fingered deep and within an inch of his life as Gimli frees his big cock with his other hand, the shaft thick and pulsing, the crown cherry-red and glistening like candy. Legolas has sucked it hundreds of times, but _still_ just the mere _sight_ makes him dizzy with hunger, his mouth flooding, his chest tight around the frantic beat of his heart. “Oh _god, jesus fuck,”_ he moans unintelligibly as Gimli withdraws his fingers only to tease the burning head of his cock over Legolas’s needy hole. “Baby _fuck me,_ please, give it to me, _ah—”_ he chokes out, breath suddenly _stolen_ and reduced to a cut-off gasp as Gimli slides home, punching the air right from his lungs. 

It takes him a few strokes to get his vision back, his breath. The world is static and sensation and the taste of sweat and spice on his lips, nothing and nothing until suddenly it’s _everything:_ Gimli’s weight crushing into him, his thickness coring him, his hands all over him, tugging at his hair and holding his jaw aligned so that he can kiss him rough and possessive, choke him with his tongue. 

Legolas lets his mouth be fucked open, settles for sucking in idle, breathless pulses on Gimli’s tongue, his chin scoured raw from his beard. Gimli is usually a very slow, teasing, thorough kisser, and it’s _insanely_ hot to feel him lose control. He’s claiming Legolas’s mouth, biting his lips and feeding him his spit and Legolas can’t _breathe_ but he doesn’t care. He's filled to the brim in every way he can be and that is _exactly_ what he wanted when he started teasing Gimli in the first place. 

“God, feel so fucking good, so hot and tight,” Gimli growls into Legolas’s gasping mouth as he tears away, reaching between their bodies to rub over his chest in mauling, greedy drags of his palm as he props himself up with his other arm. He squeezes Legolas’s nipples between thumb and forefinger as he pounds into him, the force of his thrusts enough to drive them both across the bed, until they are pressed into the headboard, Legolas’s silk robe open beneath them, crushed by their weight. “You knew _exactly_ what you were doing to me,” he huffs out, twisting a nipple punishingly, eliciting a strangled cry. “Knew I couldn’t resist my princess. Knew I’d end up with my cock in my hand, dreaming of the way you feel around me.” 

“Oh god, _Daddy,_ I’m so fucking close. M’gonna—if you don’t stop—“ Legolas sobs hoarsely, cock bobbing against his stomach with enough force from each thrust it could finish him off. The friction alone is maddening, but then there’s Gimli _inside_ him, hollowing him out, filling him up. 

Gimli slows the motion then bears down, changing his angle enough he’s not hammering _into_ Legolas as much as he’s _deep-dicking_ him, circling his hips, teasing him at his core. There’s sweat beading in the thick hair between his pectorals and dripping down onto Legolas, slicking him up so they shift together easily, lubricated by perspiration. “How’s that?” he murmurs against his ear, thumb pressed to the thunder of his pulse. “Think you can hold on this way Darling? Can you play with your pretty cock with me inside your hole, or will that finish you off?” 

Legolas fumbles into the humid mess between their joined bodies to play with his cock, stroking it clumsily as his eyes lock onto Gimli’s, held there static and electric as fist moves over his length. “I—ah. I can touch it, I— _fuck—“_

Gimli bites his shoulder, hard enough to smart. “ _Don’t_ come, princess, not yet. Wait until your daddy says so.” 

Legolas whines wordlessly, holding his cock tight at the base as Gimli pulls out and slams back into him, their skin slapping obscenely, wet and slick. He’s almost _sure_ he can’t hold back from capsizing into pleasure, but Gimli is _looking_ at him like he can, eyes dark, cheeks flushed, so much adoration shining back at him Legolas feels like his chest could simply _burst_ from it. “I’ll wait. I can—just fucking _tell me,_ I’m so close, I’m— _oh god,_ Gimli, _Jesus_ ,” he cries as he feels Gimli lock up and shoot off inside him, ribbons of hot come pulsing from his cock with such force he can _feel_ it nearly push him over the edge from the inside out. 

A few sweat-sticky, delirious moments pass, Gimli catching his breath above Legolas his big arms taut and flexing as he adjusts himself, holding himself upright as he regains his bearings. He’s _so_ fucking handsome Legolas can hardly stand it, his heart pounding as he gazes up at him through his haze of overwhelmed tears, _floored_ that he gets to sleep next to this man every night. That he gets to be _fucked to pieces_ by him whenever he wants. _Even_ even he's at work. 

Gimli shifts, still hard enough to thrust in and out of Legolas a few times, punching tiny whimpers from him. “ _Now_ , princess, now you can come. Give it to me—please—ah,” Gimli huffs out against his ear, and all Legolas has to do it make a proper fist and stroke firmly towards the tip and thats _it._ He cries out and spills between their bodies, all over the hairy plane of Gimli’s taut, round stomach, as high as his pecs, where it clings lewd and pearly. Gimli keeps lazily fucking Legolas as his cock twitches and softens, riding out his orgasm as long as he can, so his hole is still raw and stuffed as comes down from the blinding flash of orgasm. 

“Oh my god,”Legolas whimpers as he melts bonelessly into the bed, his robe sweat-soaked under him. “I’m gonna be _so_ sore tomorrow.” 

Gimli pulls out with a groan, getting come everywhere in the process. He sweetly rubs the mess into Legolas’s creamy thighs with his thumbs, admiring the wreck he left. “And you _deserve_ it. My god, I can’t believe I _left work._ My boss said I looked _sick._ I must have come out of the bathroom _truly_ blanched for him to have even noticed.” 

Legolas smiles smugly, and holds out his arms. “I know I should apologize but I'm honestly too pleased with myself.” Smirking down at him with his wavy red hair half-freed from his bun, Gimli tucks his spent cock back into his black jeans, forearms strong and flexing and _god,_ he is such a vision Legolas makes a face. “You are _so_ sexy, it’s not my fault I nearly perish of loneliness every time you work a bartending shift.” 

“I suspect that particular job is short lived,” Gimli sighs, refusing to lie down on top of Legolas like Legolas _wants_ and instead flopping beside him, patting his big belly. “Climb aboard, ass in my face. I want to eat you out, been thinking about it all night. You _cannot_ send pictures with the candy heart plug and expect me to _not_ get my tongue in you, Darling. And you can count on that.” 

Legolas is dizzy and delirious as he does what he’s told, clumsily mounting Gimli with his ass in his face, shivering at the puff of hot breath, the slick, maddening pass of his tongue over his puffy and well-fucked rim. “Oh god,” he murmurs, wincing and trembling, legs in tremors as Gimli rubs one steadying palm down his side. “That’s so much. M’so fucked, so sensitive. Kinda hurts.” 

Gimli groans, then pulls away with obscene wet sound. “Another thing you _deserve._ I am going to lick this little princess hole clean and there is _nothing_ you can do about it,” Gimli announces, making a fierce, rough fist in the meat of Legolas’s ass before smacking it firmly. 

And Legolas might be _pretending_ to whimper and complain his way through it, but they _both_ know he wants it, and sure enough after a minute or so he’s rocking into Gimli’s tongue, dizzy with the coarse drag of his beard over such sensitive skin. Eventually Gimli gets his fill and pushes him off before dragging him into his arms, burying his face into the flaxen tangles of his hair. “I love you so much,” he murmurs. “Even if you cheated me out of those big drunk tips I get after 1:30 am.” 

“I hope _my_ tips are better,” Legolas murmurs, yawning and settling against Gimli’s chest, burying his face into his armpit, between his pecs, up against his side. Wherever he can inhale from him and press a hungry kiss to sweat-tacky skin. 

“Oh, much better. Incomparable, really,” Gimli promises, but Legolas doesn’t even hear, because he’s drifted right to sleep. 


End file.
